I Bid You Welcome
by Phantom on a Budget
Summary: A little experiment I devised when pondering what would happen if Erik's past caught up with him. A unexpected visitor from his troubled childhood seeks Erik and may change his life completely. Please read and review. Many thanks! UPDATE CH. 3
1. Default Chapter

**"I Bid You Welcome"**

L.M. Colburn

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own "Phantom of the Opera," nor do I own Dr. Etienne Barye and the back story provided by Susan Kay's "Phantom."_

_Do not steal. I bite hard._

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I had never considered myself an emotional man by most standards. Throughout my life I have learned that emotion is a dangerous being that blinds one's vision and dulls the senses, a lead weight that drags you below the surface without hope of escape. I avoided showing any emotion wherever I could for sake of my own life, say nothing of those around me.

But at the same time it is not as if I could not entirely escape it. To be completely devoid of emotion would be utterly inhuman, which, though some may choose to argue that point, I am not. I must admit I have done rather well removing myself from the human race. However, though I dwell in darkness like a vampire of lore, I am certainly nothing less than human no matter how I, or others try to disprove it, and regrettably enough am still prone to those tireless pangs known as love, hate, anger, and whatever tedious examples one may come up with.

I think perhaps the most common emotion people experienced when reflecting upon my business is that of a guarded curiosity. Since moving from Belgium back to my native France, my contracting had seen a burst of new clients, all of which I handled through the services of my agent. Meeting with the public had grown tedious to me and I steadfastly refused to do so as my reputation for the unique quality of my work had grown. Jean was good enough for me to trust with the arrangements. And, as it seemed, for turning away insistent customers that demanded to meet their builder in person.

One night, however, Jean failed at this one task. It was dark and most likely quite late in the evening. I had a dreadful habit of forgetting the time whilst working on various projects, and it was not entirely uncommon for me to glance at my elegant silver pocket watch and find myself alone at nearly three o'clock in the morning. Between the serenity of the darkness outside my walls and my complete involvement in my work, night often flew by with only the slightest hint of sleep.

It was late in the evening - perhaps eight or nine o'clock. As I remember I was bent over one of my drafting tables studying a design for a villa I had drawn up the night before. One of the angles seemed off by the slightest bit and for the life of me finding a decent solution was eating me from the inside out. I stood for several minutes with my arms spread along the table, staring at the draft in deep thought. For a fleeting moment I thought about pausing to loosen my tie and make myself a bit more comfortable. But as I straightened up and moved away from the table, I glanced over my left shoulder and that's when the answer hit me. Swiftly my hands flew to the pencils and expertly drew in the new lines. I became dimly aware of someone standing in the darkened doorway.

I paused briefly without looking up. Assuming it was Jean, I sighed and pondered his apparent lack of announcement. "I have only one piece of advice for you - learn to knock," I began with a hint of exasperation. "Undoubtedly you shall find your reception a bit more welcome."

There was a long pause. Normally I would welcome this sort of silence, but for some odd reason I grew very apprehensive. I felt a knot grow in my stomach as I slowly looked up from the paper and recognized the dark figure as anything but Jean's. The instinctive feeling of claustrophobia seemed to set in and I tried to assess if he had companions and how I would go about extricating myself from this mess. I paused to gather my composure. When I spoke my voice was calm, low, and resonated of a warning I had often given before.

"You would do well to leave now, Monsieur, before you come to sincerely regret your decision to come here," I said coolly. I felt my blood rise and the stare the figure held on me. It was not one of fear or loathing as I had so often felt before, but rather a sort of marked curiosity. The figure tilted his head slightly to the side as if he were studying me, and it was then I decided I had quite enough. I threw my pencil down on the drafting table and moved to step out from behind it when the man finally spoke.

"Good evening, Erik." I stopped dead. Those words, that voice. That knot in my stomach turned to a lead weight and as I stood there, staring in disbelief, I realized I had forgotten to take a breath. I am quite sure I would have turned blue if I had not already turned a ghastly shade of white.

I would have recognized the voice of Doctor Etienne Barye anywhere. He stepped forward into the candlelight and I could finally see his features. My expression on the left side of my face must have been utterly dumbstruck. A soft smile played on his lips as he removed his hat and I suddenly felt very light headed. I blinked hard several times to make it dissipate, but it refused to do so, and as I grasped the table with my right hand for support, Etienne moved to help steady me, but I waived him off before he had the chance. I turned away from him and took several steps as I tried to calm myself. My heart was racing wildly, my head was spinning, and how I did not find myself on the floor I shall never know. An unpleasant reminder of my troubled past had returned to haunt me and I was not entirely sure I could cope.

Several theories had popped into my head regarding his arrival, none of which were terribly optimistic. Anything and everything from scientific or medical study to my mother crossed my mind. He married her once I had left, did he not? If he had come, I dared not wonder when _she_ might make an appearance. It nearly brought me to the verge of sanity. But he was not wearing a ring. What on earth was going on?

I stood with my back to Dr. Barye for several moments while I attempted to catch my breath. I heard him gingerly take a step toward me and suddenly I felt my confusion turn to anger as I swung around on him. "Why?" I demanded harshly, stepping up to him and staring him down in what I now consider an appallingly display of poor manners.

Etienne shrunk back slightly at my intensity, but refused to back down. He simply stood there for several long moments, looking back at me calmly while he formulated a response. He glanced down to the floor for a split second before meeting my eyes once more. Inwardly I bid him speak before my temper betrayed me and I did something the both of us would come to regret dearly.

Part of me wanted to take his hat and coat for him and sit down for a casual drink as my manners insisted, but I had already made quite a scene and the only thing that would calm me was a reasonable explanation why this man had suddenly appeared in my life. I had no fond memories of Dr. Barye's presence. Indeed the last time I had seen him was most unpleasant; memories swooped down and momentarily clouded my vision and thoughts. I had to have been about nine years old. The dark garden, Sasha barking feverishly, the torches, the crazed mob wanting nothing more than to tear me apart, the blood. Oh, the blood... And why? Why...

Naturally I owe the rest of what is the disaster of my life to Dr. Barye and his skills as a physician. As I lay on the couch so many years ago with the knife wound to my chest treated, a wave of emotions coursed through me. Grief, hate, fear, uncertainty...all of which I do not care to elaborate on. But as I stood there in that darkened room with Barye standing before me one clear word rang in my ears - _asylum_. Several things prompted my flight from my childhood home, and I cannot excuse the fact that the threat of being locked in an institution was one of them. And though all I normally experienced about the subject was anger, looking at Etienne then - a gray sort of his former self - the only thing I could feel was annoyance.

"I have my reasons, Erik," Etienne said calmly. "Perhaps you would be willing to hear them over a pipe or cup of tea."

"I do not smoke," I declared.

"Well a cup of tea, then," he suggested as a fleeting smile crossed his lips. If he was fearful of me he was doing a fine job of disguising it. I had watched him and my mother together as a child without their knowing. He had always come off as strong-willed and self-confident, if not a touch arrogant. Indeed that was one thing that we held in common. I relaxed some and studied him warily for a moment before nodding and moving past him to the sitting room down the hall. He must have sensed my deep suspicion, for I was making no attempt to hide it.

"You have nothing to fear, Erik, I assure you my intentions are good."

"I should hope so, Dr. Barye, for your sake." Silence from him as we entered the room and I offered him one of the plush leather chairs furnishing the finely trimmed atmosphere. Regrettably I did not have any need for tea at the moment, and so I offered a bit of brandy and he graciously accepted. As I stood there pouring the rich liquid from the decanter I once more felt his curious stare upon me.

"You look well," he remarked. I held back a scoff as I returned the decanter to its place on the mantle.

"It is imported from the finest tailors in London, I should certainly hope so," I said, referring to the fine black tailcoat and suit I was wearing. If there was one thing about my appearance that did not need any help, it was my taste in dress. The sarcasm was now dripping from my voice and I found I could no longer even try to contain it.

Barye's expression blanched a bit at my insinuation. "That was not what I meant," he defended in a serious tone. I stood stiffly before him, swirling my glass with my right hand and my gaze demanding an explanation for his presence. He leaned back into the chair and studied the room as I continued to wait impatiently. "You have done marvelously well for yourself, if you do not mind my saying."

I maintained my stiff, proper stance despite the infuriating thoughts running through my head. "Indeed. Far better than I would have fared in an _institution_, wouldn't you say Dr. Barye? The conditions must be positively wretched for business. I hear the clients pay poorly and the architecture is dismal." And there it was, making its first remarkable appearance of the evening - my damned tongue. If my face is the first thing people remember about me, my mouth may very well be the second. I daresay Barye's color fell at least three shades of white at my biting words. I watched in near amusement as he swallowed and then glanced down at the floor, searching for either some words to ease the situation or a straight shot out of the house.

I rolled my eyes at his hesitation. Let it go for the moment, Erik, I told myself. I did not need his head on my wall - this old man most likely did not need the grief. I took a step toward him and I saw him flinch slightly at my approach - I placed my glass down on the table between us and proceeded to seat myself just off to Barye's right. I find it both amusing and tragic how even my most mundane actions always seemed to reflect proper positioning to give others the slightest view of the mask possible.

I sighed, and then reached down for my glass. "I think it would be best if you simply stated your reason for coming here, Dr. Barye. It is quite obvious neither of us are comfortable and I tire of the guessing."

He nodded in agreement. "Do call me Etienne, Erik. We're both accomplished adults now, no need to doddle with such a formality," he jested.

I only stared at him before sipping my brandy. "Quite."

Etienne placed his glass down and leaned toward me, his eyes reflecting his growing resolve. "Than I shall be quite frank with you about this whole thing. As you may know I have been working in Paris off an on throughout my medical career," he began, his face searching mine for a response.

I only returned his stare. "I do not make a hobby out of meddling in the affairs of others," I said coldly. That was a lie. Somewhere Satan was probably having a good laugh.

Etienne paused thoughtfully. "Well, it is true. One year ago I took a position as an instructor at one of the laboratories and have since spent a great deal of time in this area." I stared at my shrinking glass and listened to him speak. _Get on with it_, I thought impatiently. "So it is no surprise that when I thought of looking at permanent living arrangements I pursued some contractors in the area and eventually ran across your name, not knowing _who_ it belonged to. I've spent the last bit finding anything out I could about you."

Lie. Bloody liar. The man was nearly as bad as I was. I rolled my eyes once more and took another sip of my dwindling brandy. "What, do you not believe me?" he asked.

"No, I do not."

"And why is that?"

"Because, _Etienne_," I began with a slightly condescending tone. "If you had been pursuing me as a contractor, you would have quickly realized there is nothing to find out. I conduct my business nearly in strict anonymity because of who I am, and I go to great lengths to see that it stays that way. People insist on meeting me and prying into my personal life, but they never get any further than Jean as far as that is concerned."

"It is not as if the man cannot be bought," Etienne commented, his eyes narrowing some.

"He has a terribly distinct sense of loyalty to he who possesses the most money," I declared triumphantly. "Which, in all cases, happens to be myself."

"Erik, there is another reason I came here tonight," Etienne muttered. I carried on as if I hadn't heard his comment.

"Then of course, who's to say how much he goes in fear of what I might do to him." I suppressed a sardonic laugh as I took another sip of my drink.

"Your mother insists on meeting with you."

It is funny how quickly a drink may touch the inside of one's mouth and then come sputtering back out. I flung myself forward in an attempt to both catch my breath and avoid spitting my drink on my trousers. Then silence. I sat there in stunned disbelief wondering if he had honestly said those words. Once again my heart began to race and I found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Etienne looked at me curiously. I then turned to him, and in a most elegant and sophisticated - or perhaps stupid - fashion muttered, "What?"

Barye sat across from me calmly as he leaned back and rested his chin on this thumb and forefinger. "She has been needing greatly to see you again. I came back into touch with her several years ago and she had heard rumors of this mysterious architect. She begged me to find you."

And as I sat and listened to his explanation, I had the sudden need to pour myself a rather large helping of brandy.

"She is not here, then?" I asked, fearful that the one encounter I wished to avoid the most may have been standing around the corner.

Etienne shook his head. "No, she is not," he said quietly. "I regret to say that she is still in Boscherville."

My stomach felt like a lead weight as I slumped deeper into my chair. Why in Heaven's name was she in Boscherville? Of all places! My mind raced back to that awful village and its damned inhabitants, its quaint roads and charming country houses. How dare it be so welcoming when to me it represented nothing but pain and rejection. A sharp cracking noise interrupted my pained reflection, and as I looked up sharply I realized it was coming from the stable. Numbly I checked my watch and then glanced over to Etienne, who was staring out into the hall.

"This is time for his evening feed," I said numbly. I sat there for another few seconds before finally dragging myself slowly from the chair and making my way to the doorway and motioning for Etienne to follow.

"So…am I to assume the two of you never married then?" I asked as we walked through the darkened hallway. I felt nothing. I trailed my hand along the carved wood paneling of the wall, but was completely numb inside and out. Even my mind ceased to function in its normal capacity.

Etienne stopped abruptly. "What do you mean?"

I stopped at the stable entrance and looked accusingly over my shoulder at Etienne.

He furrowed his brow in a fleeting expression of confusion. "The night you were attacked," he began, speaking as though he had to recall every word directly from his memory of that evening. "She no longer wanted to hear my opinion on the matter. She wanted to stay with you. She told me to leave and we didn't see each other until recently."

What little color I have must have drained from my face immediately as Etienne's expression became wrought with concern. "My God, Erik, I thought you knew…" But I hadn't known. I did not know because I was not there. I ran from the only home I had ever known that night because I knew my mother could never live the life she desired so long as I lived under her roof. There were times when I hated her with all my being; times when I shook with loathing. But I could not deny her the happiness she wanted so desperately – happiness she found with this man before me now.

I leaned up against the doorframe and hung my head. It had all been for nothing. Positively nothing! I struggled through the wretched pits of the deepest, darkest hell on this forsaken earth and now even my sacrifice was reduced to nothing but a bloody farce. The beatings, the cage, the fairs and the stupid people, the killings and lies in Persia…I was condemned morally and I had nothing to show for it. Now I could only turn my back on it and wish it back into the darkest corners of my mind where it undoubtedly belonged.

"That part of my life is over," I muttered as I turned to the door and opened it. Etienne stared after me for a moment before following me into the stable where Allemande waited somewhat impatiently for his evening meal. The black gelding nickered expectantly, making it quite clear that his insatiable appetite had not been looked after. As if the incessant pawing of his door would allow me to forget.

Etienne studied the horse briefly before turning back to me. "It is not over, Erik," he insisted. His tone was insistent, confident. I felt exhaustion creeping over me as I began to prepare oat, corn, and molasses dinner for the virtual black hole that was my horse.

"It is over," I insisted, shaking my head slightly at the thought. "I have no desire to revisit it."

Etienne took a brazen step forward. "You really should reconsider-"

"Damn you, Barye!" I yelled as I swung around on him. My temper was rising and my blood began to boil at his persistence. "Damn your impertinence! How dare you walk into my life and threaten to destroy the very fabric of my sanity by insisting I meet with a woman who hated me, feared me, and blamed _me_ for the shipwreck that was her life! You are very lucky, sir, that I do not kill you now and be rid of you forever," I spat. I could sense the piercing venom in my voice. And yet Etienne did not move. He simply stood there, seemingly detached, as he watched me make my way to Allemande's stall.

At this point the tall, imposing German-bred gelding was standing in the far corner, white-eyed and fearful of all the sudden commotion. I had little company in my life and I relished the feeling of his soft muzzle on my face, completely unknowing or uncaring of what lie beneath the strange white fabric. I admired his beauty, his grace, and his powerful stride. I envied his innocence and at the same time cursed the life of servitude he and other animals like him were forced to live. He would never know whips or chains. I would never raise my voice to him over what he had done. He would never know the fear and despair behind cold, iron bars. I would never allow the tragedy of my life to be repeated, even if all that trouble was over an animal. At least animals do not judge me.

As Allemande slowly made his way over to me, I greeted his muzzle with an open palm and invited him closer. He stepped forward and lowered his forehead to my chest and stood quietly as I stroked his face and tangled my fingers in his glorious forelock. It was all threatening to destroy me - Etienne, my mother, my troubled past. It was too much, far too much. The emotional torment I suffered through throughout my childhood and later was welling to the surface. I spread my hands along the top of the stall and closed my eyes.

"She could never bring herself to kiss me," I muttered. "Why should I return to her now?" I heard Etienne take a step toward me. I opened my eyes briefly to see him standing to my left, close enough to touch me. But he did not. I do now know why I had expected him to – few people in my life ever had. Once more I closed my eyes and fought the impending blackness. Moments later I felt a tentative hand upon my shoulder.

My eyes shot open and I looked to see Etienne gazing down on my reassuringly. "Because she is finally prepared to become the mother you never had."


	2. My Folly

_**Author Notes:**_

_Here is the long-awaited second chapter of IBYW. I danced around continuing this story due mainly to time constraints, but I recently found myself unable to keep Erik silent much longer and hated not giving you guys something to read. Please read and review, this story_ will _be continued!_ _Thank you to all of you who replied and gave me encouragement!_

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**I Bid You Welcome: My Folly**

Being what I am, I have learned from experience to be prepared for numerous surprises. Most of which, of course, are by nature unpleasant. But what Etienne said to me that evening was nothing short of shocking. After he had left, I sank into my chair, stared blankly into the fire and told myself there simply wasn't enough alcohol in this house.

Not that I have any sort of great interest in alcohol whatsoever. It is mostly an entertainment drink for me – not that I ever entertained! That fact alone should demonstrate how little I actually bothered pouring a brandy or any other sort of drink that happened to take up residence in my cellar.

Rather, my escape is music, and that evening I fled to it. That meddling doctor had not been gone more than 15 minutes before I sat down at the piano and began fingering the keys. Not long after, an explosion of sound erupted from the instrument and I was lost in music. My fingers ran up and down the keyboard nearly franticly, trying desperately to express what I was feeling. But even I did not know what I was feeling, and so I suspect whatever I had been improvising must have sounded very interesting indeed.

But suddenly the sweeping cadenza came to a violent halt as I slammed my hands down on the keyboard, creating a tremendous dissonance that could have very easily woken the dead. I stared ahead in the deafening silence. Had I accepted? In my confusion I managed to completely let the moment pass me by without a hint of recollection. I leaned in toward the piano and closed my eyes. My mind, normally capable of inhuman feats, had been completely shut down once Etienne told me Madeline was alive and desired to see me. I turned into a blithering idiot faster than the Punjab lasso killed.

Equally quick was my temper. Before I even realized my movement, two highly decorative – and highly delicate – china pieces were across the room and in more pieces than I care to remember. I distinctly recall the discord in my mind, as the first thought that came to me was that if Nadir were to see that, he would not have approved. It is not as if I had approved of it afterward, either – I had lost two stylish pieces I enjoyed and gained a disastrous mess that I would be forced to clean up. Splendid.

As I stood there that evening, surveying the damage I had caused, my mind was still racing. Had I agreed? Surely not – I could not have allowed that to happen to myself after all the years I had spent banishing the memories of my life in Boscherville. I spread my arms along the top of the divan and hung my head as I contemplated what action to take next. I looked up and paused as I stared at the shattered china lying strewn across the floor – the shattered pieces of my life.

My life had in no way been a pleasant experience for me, but the one comforting fact was that it was _mine_. I belonged to no one and was no longer forced to answer to an authority.

It incensed me that Madeline was now trying to claim her mother status. Never was she a mother to me, and I was determined to not let her declare it then. What did she intend to do? Did she truly think she would parade around on my arm, showcasing her genius offspring and his talents? Well much to her surprise she would come to find out that my talents exceeded the fields of science and the arts. Killing had become an art form that had been properly refined and revered in Persia, demented though it was. I was glad to be back in a "civilized" society and keep strict confidence with the few in my employment and my customers – greater discretion meant fewer unpleasant encounters that were likely to end in someone residing beneath the soil. If Madeline was intent on seeking me out, she was sure to find more than she would ever have intended.

I then stood up and placed my hands behind my back as a mysterious calm came over me. I would lie in wait and determine my course of action in the meantime. My answer was soon to come.

Two days later I was out alone surveying a small, secluded plot of land outside the city. I spent the day walking the property and laying out plans for the villa I intended to build there. It was a ridiculous piece of land by my standards, with no distinguishing features or attributes worth mentioning or looking out upon, and the villa matched its location rather well. I took no great pride with this latest business, but the clients paid more than well enough. And so, I was obliged to design the house to its owners' desires, tedious and ungratifying though it may have been.

I returned late in the evening and put Allemande away in the stable. As I stepped in my house and began removing my gloves, I noticed a note of some sort inside the door. I looked at it curiously and pondered it for a moment whilst I finished with my gloves and put them on the nearest counter. I did not recognize the handwriting, but had a reasonable idea who it belonged to as I bent down to retrieve it.

The note was from Etienne. I cursed under my breath, and then went about reading it as I removed my cloak and loosened my tie. I had to give the man credit, for he did not give up. The very fact that he had entered my house that evening should have told me that he was strong-willed and intended to win this battle.

I nearly began to laugh at the situation, but promptly decided there was nothing quite funny about it. He was inviting me to dinner with him and Madeline. Dr. Etienne Barye was inviting me to dine like I was any other human being, when it was he who said that I belonged locked away. "Unbelievable," I muttered to myself. I am disfigured, not stupid, and at that moment I had the right mind to tell Barye so.

I folded the note and prepared to throw it into the fire where it would no longer threaten me. But I stopped and opened up again thoughtfully. This was an opportunity to be had. Etienne knew of my residence, which of course meant that Madeline knew as well, and the only guarantee of relief was relocate. I was not prepared to leave my business and the reputation I had earned over the past several years. I had a comfortable living at the time, made a great deal of money, and had little trouble with my privacy. No…I was not about to flee as I had done in the past from what I had built for myself. I folded the invitation once more and placed it in my breast pocket as I began formulating a reply.

My intention was not necessarily to "scare" them off as it were, but I was certainly going to intimidate them and be inexcusably clear that my life was not to be disturbed. My door was not open, and I would make damn sure that they not interfere with any of my business or dare speak my name in public. I had my way of exerting my influence when I felt the need. I had no idea how my opinions were about to change.

I was surprisingly calm that morning as I began preparing for the trip. I had hired a coach to travel by, and would tether Alle to the back so that I had a horse with me and a quick escape should the occasion arise. Carefully I packed what I needed in the saddlebags and laid them by the stall. I planned to travel by coach to the outskirts of Boscherville, and then ride in on my own to attract less attention. Why on earth I had agreed to travel to Boscherville I will never know. I have nothing but contempt for that village and the place where I had lived as a young child. Regrettably, however, it was a much more agreeable situation than having Madeline and Etienne travel to my house or meet in a public restaurant.

Naturally, my first solution would have been to not meet them at all.

Even so, I had agreed to arrive at the house of Mademoiselle Perrault that evening to take dinner with the three of them. The neutral location eased my apprehension some. I feared entering my childhood home would do nothing but send me over the edge and ruin the evening for everyone, and potentially raise hell in the neighborhood. A mysterious visitor to the outcast mother of a monster would attract unwanted attention. To this day I still am not able to fully explain what in the bloody hell I was thinking when I agreed to this trip. My boredom must have truly been driving me mad if my new hobby was wallowing in the black mud of the past.

And so I prepared myself and departed Paris. Dressed in my best, of course, as my tastes had grown increasingly expensive over time. Etienne failed to specify dress for the evening, but I quickly decided that eveningwear was more than appropriate. I suspect it would be shocking for someone from my bleak past to have seen me then – dressed in the finest Paris and London had to offer, my stark white shirt neatly starched and my tailcoat impeccably black. Ever the formal one, I am.

Unfortunately for my productivity and peace, I learned early in the trip that attempting to write and prepare designs while in a moving coach simply does not work, however gifted the architect may be. After an hour of futile attempts I placed the papers back in my bag and was left with nothing but my thoughts to keep me entertained. This, like so many times before and since, led to nothing but trouble for my already unstable mind.

Though I much would have preferred to dwell on music, I found myself drifting dangerously close to the events of my childhood. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach that had not been there before. As the journey wore on I became increasingly agitated over the images mixing in my mind – images of what was, and what could have been. I heard Etienne's cruel words and insistence on an asylum – an _institution_, as he called it. I found it disgusting to apply such a socially acceptable word – scientifically appealing, even – to such a deplorable prison.

No matter what Barye wanted to think, a prison was not reserved for criminals. A prison may come in many forms, but in all cases they were dark and dangerous. Perhaps not physically, but mentally they turned the inhabitant into a prisoner of their own thoughts. My dark moods and ill-temper, combined with the abyss that was my mind was courtesy of my past and my own jail keeper – the woman now claiming to love me. How dare he threaten to throw me in a prison when I already carried one with me.

I looked down at my hands and shook my head sadly. Perhaps Barye had a point. If I was not considered a monster because of my deformity, I had become one through my actions. My soul had been twisted and blackened over time with each person that came to harm at my hand. While in many cases it was self-defense, taking a life does not weigh easily, even for a veteran such as myself. My horrific appearance drove me to the edge of humanity – my actions kept me there.

Damn this accursed face…

I tried desperately to take my mind off my current plight by focusing on a different – but perhaps equally frightening reality – my mother. I tried to make sense of what Etienne had told me that night. The woman I had imagined over the years, freed from the burden of her monstrous son, did not exist. I had thought that she and Barye would have married, moved away, and had a family. I had never believed in fairy tales and found them laughable, but as a young child running away from the only home I had known, I wanted that fairy tale to come true for Mother.

Mother…as I sat there in the coach, steadily approaching Boscherville, I realized that was the first time I had referred to her in that fashion since learning she was still alive. My hatred had driven that word from my vocabulary entirely as if I had no use for it. But now it suddenly returned and made me uneasier. If she had not married, what had she done with herself? Surely she could not have become a recluse, longing for the lost son she never could love in person. I tried to envision her alone, staring at the empty piano or holding my early compositions.

And to my own horror, I could picture it in my mind. I could see her arranging my work from so long ago and discussing what should have been with Marie – dear Marie Perrault. Etienne had told me of my mother's intense regret, but I had adamantly refused to believe it. He told me how Madeline would go on for hours about my music, or compositions, designs, and other work I had done. Etienne expressed such concern for her it blinded me to the fact that as much as she warped and twisted my mind, I had warped and twisted hers. We were each other's jailor.

Where I had felt hatred not long before, I now felt a tinge of guilt. I was now torn between cutting the ties with the woman who had made my childhood miserable and apologizing for what I had done. My purpose was beginning to wane just as we reached the outskirts of the village that was my childhood hell. I felt my heart begin to race as the coach came to a halt. I got out, paid the driver handsomely as promised, and prepared for my final leg of the journey. I was thankful for the darkness that allowed me more freedom, for once again my mind was overrun with emotions.

_I should not be here_, I told myself frantically. _This will only lead to disaster…most likely my own_. I mounted Allemande and he immediately sensed my nervousness. He grew incredibly tense and began pawing hastily. As I tried to calm him a small number of onlookers glanced over. They could not possibly know who I was, but their curious stare made me nervous. When would I ever learn! I moved Alle on with my cloak properly covering my face and mask. The two gentlemen stared on after me, no doubt pondering the black clad stranger who moved off into the distance.

As I rode on into the night toward my destination, I recalled the last seconds of conversation earlier that day between Jules and I. I had just told him of my destination and a short description of my feelings on the matter. He looked whiter than usual in my presence, and appeared uneasy with my attitude. I made no effort to hide my contempt for my mother and Dr. Barye, and I suspect my biting tongue was making the situation nerve-wracking for the little Belgian. Once I had explained everything to him, Jules paused, visibly confused. "Pardon my asking, Sir," he began, speaking as if it was not his place. "But if you feel this way than why did you agree to attend?"

I paused at the door and tilted my head back a moment to think. All the times I swore I would never be involved with the human race, and all the times I had found myself getting involved once more due to blind optimism. Though all the pain in my life I could not seem to accept my pathetic existence in this world.

I then looked back at Jules sadly and declared, "Because I am thoroughly unable to take a hint."

And while I rode onward, realizing once again that I had failed, I hoped that my life and sanity would not be forfeit due to my folly.

_What did you think? Please review - I greatly appreciate it! _


	3. A Stranger At The Door

**I Bid You Welcome: A Stranger at the Door**

I stood there atop a knoll overlooking Marie Perrault's quaint little house, cloaked in darkness. I had not trusted Etienne's directions and did not wish to walk into some sort of trap, and so I waited patiently outside from a distance while I surveyed the area. I was blessed with excellent eyesight, particularly in the dark, and so I made sure to explore every possible option and escape route. I dismounted and carefully made my way to the garden fence, which was worn by years of weather and stood surrounded by tall grass. From my concealed position I peered through the windows to see who exactly I was to be dealing with this fine October evening.

Through one of the windows I saw Etienne seated comfortably in a chair, casually browsing what appeared to be a newspaper. How calm he seemed in the quiet moments before a potential tempest. How positively stupid, I thought, to exhibit such overconfidence in this grand opus he had constructed. It annoyed me to no end to see him waiting without a care in the world. If he was at all nervous, he was a genuinely fine actor, worthy of the Paris stage. I shook my head and moved to gain a better look around the room.

I caught a glimpse of a dress, and for a moment I lost all breath. What is _her?_ I hesitated to move, fearing I may find Madeline. Despite all the thought and preparation I had done for this trip, it seemed as though I was still not quite prepared to see her again. But to my immediate relief, the plain skirt did not belong to my mother. I found Marie Perrault sitting across from Etienne. She was as I had always remembered her – plain and nervous, fearing the meeting to come. But even in her plainness, she was one of the very few in my childhood that treated me with human dignity, and for that she had nothing but my utmost respect.

Mademoiselle Perrault sat there now, uneasily fingering the folds of her skirt, looking anxiously from Etienne to the door, completely unaware that outside a ruthless murderer was carefully watching like a wolf stalks its prey. I hung my head for a moment with that last passing thought. I was more like a wolf than I had even cared to note. I was a wolf in sheep's clothing. I was a murderer parading as a gentleman, and no matter what I did or how I conducted myself, there was no denying that fact.

I remained there for several minutes, crouched silently in the dark, staring endlessly off into nothing. What on earth was I doing? _I should not have come, I should not be sitting outside this house now and I should stay any longer. _My silent cover was ruined when Allemande, who was infinitely and inconveniently impatient, nickered in protest of my absence. I waived a hand at him and begged him quietly not to open his big mouth. But Alle, the problematic child that he often was, pawed and whinnied.

Too late.

I turned to growl at him and as I did so caught something in the corner of my eye that made me stop dead. Per invitation there were only two women at this ridiculous little social gathering, and I had already identified one as Marie Perrault. The withered creature before me could have been no other than my mother.

I was shocked. I sat there now staring through the window on the one sight I had never wanted to see again. There she was, sitting on the edge of her chair with her eyes fixed upon the floor. Her silver hair was pulled up in a neat bun, but I suspect due to the shaking in Madeline's hands, it was most likely Marie's work, not her own. She wore an older dress that like its owner, had seen better days.

My eyes could not move from the sight of my mother's face, much like the eyes of those who gaze upon my ghastly face. Age had not been kind to this woman. She was once stunning – a stark contrast to what I looked like. Now, she was like a wilted flower, her face wrinkled and worn, mouth drawn tight. She appeared much frailer than I had remembered, though that is to be expected with the number of years between us. I leaned forward and grasped the fence with my right hand and I continued my stare as minutes passed me by.

My focus was abruptly drawn away when I felt Mademoiselle Perrault's gaze fixed upon the window. She stared out into the night with an expression of horror, and suddenly her hand flew to her mouth. _Damn it!_ I thought as I immediately fell flat amongst the grass and beat the ground with my palm. She must have seen the mask – my white mask that stood out like a beacon in the dark night. _Damn, damn damn! Erik, you unspeakable fool, _I growled to myself. I heard voices from inside and carefully peered through the blades of grass to see Etienne standing by the window. This was not a pleasant beginning to the night's festivities.

When no one presented themselves outside, I carefully made my way back up the hill toward Allemande, thankful for the darkness that covered my tracks. I reached up with my gloved hand and gently stroked the gelding's long neck as he turned his head into my chest. "What am I doing…" I whispered, running my left hand over his ebony ears. I looked back over my right shoulder to the house and the warm light shining through the windows. I felt my breathing become heavier as I thought of what to do. I could leave immediately and they would be none the wiser, but it would accomplish nothing. If I left at that moment my entire trip would have been for absolutely nothing, much like my flight from my home as a young child.

With one swift motion my right hand flew up, removed my felt hat and dashed it across my knee as I gritted my teeth. "Damn it all to hell," I muttered as I replaced my hat and gazed once more down on the house. I made up my mind. I was going down there. I took one deep breath as I moved toward the saddle. Allemande's gaze followed me.

"What are _you_ looking at?" I demanded. He simply sneezed and shook his head. I nodded. "That's what I thought." Allemande snorted again and I allowed a small chuckle to escape my lips.

"Well my friend, this will either be a glorious beginning or the brilliant last hurrah," I declared as I mounted and gathered the reins. Like a distinguished commanding officer, I looked down once more upon my destination calmly before issuing the final charge. I asked Allemande into a canter and we moved off swiftly together. We made our way down the quiet dirt road and gracefully came to a halt at the front gate. I dismounted and decided against tethering Alle to the front fence. I stroked his face before turning and approaching the door. Hesitantly my hand knocked on the door, and as I waited in the shadows with my heart racing, I looked down and managed to brush off the stray pieces of grass from my waistcoat. Lord knows that would have been incriminating if they opened the door to fine me removing grass from -

"Good evening, Erik." I looked up to find Etienne standing in the doorway, gazing upon me with uncertain eyes. For a moment I was dumbstruck. I removed my hat and gave a stiff, subtle bow. The years under my mother's roof had not left me.

"Dr. Barye," I greeted, a formal tone in my voice. The open door blocked my view into the parlor where I was sure Marie and my mother were waiting. I looked back to Etienne.

"Please, won't you come in?" he asked, moving to allow me room to pass by. I hesitated.

"I was rather hoping to settle the horse before I came in, if that is agreeable to you."

He nodded. "Of course, I shall show you the way." And with that, I made my way back to Allemande, thankful for the momentary reprieve. As I moved toward the small stable, I was dimly aware of Marie standing in the doorway, watching.

"I should think that he'd be quite comfortable in here for the time being," Etienne noted as he motioned toward the waiting, freshly bedded stall. I led Alle in and removed his bridle while Etienne fetched hay for tired beast. I went about loosening the girth, and as I did so felt Etienne's curious stare upon me. "Would you care to unsaddle him, seeing that you will not be departing immediately?" he asked. The air about him seemed uneasy as his stoic façade began to wear. I glanced over to him and then continued my work.

"So long as there is food in front of him, he will be more than content," I declared, the tone of my voice straight as an arrow. I finished and patted my horse on the shoulder. I was only delaying the inevitable.

Sensing my hesitation, Etienne moved toward the door. "Perhaps we had better get inside," he suggested. "Mademoiselle Perrault is nearly finished preparing a lovely meal for you."

_Please. No one ever prepares anything for me_, I thought to myself. I looked up to Etienne and slowly nodded, my stomach sinking with every passing second. I slowly approached the door and removed my hat as I stepped inside. I could feel the color draining from my face and my head become increasingly cloudy as I entered. Etienne offered to take my hat and cloak and I reluctantly gave them over, feeling horribly exposed despite my mask and fine evening suit. My throat began to tighten and while I wanted to blame my tie, I knew that was not the cause. I looked around briefly as Etienne returned, looking me over while he came to stand at my side. I folded my hands behind my back and he did the same.

We stood together in a stiff silence for what seemed like an eternity, and I wondered if he could hear my heart bounding out of my chest. Etienne shifted and looked down briefly. "Marie and your mother are waiting." I simply nodded, and he stepped past me into the parlor. Those last ten feet were the hardest I have ever walked. Unconsciously I ran a hand over my tie to ensure it was straight after my escapades outside the garden, smoothed my dark hair, and gave one final tug on my waistcoat. My stomach was a lead weight as I returned my left hand behind my back and turned the corner.

I looked up to see Marie Perrault standing no more than ten feet from me, white as I probably was. Behind her stood Etienne, with Madeline on his arm. Marie's hand fluttered by her side as if it were to fly to her mouth once more, but she kept it down in an obvious show of restraint. I smiled ever so briefly as I looked past her to my mother, who was leaning heavily on Etienne for support. I turned back to Marie.

"Good evening Mademoiselle Perrault," I began formally. "I thank you for your hospitality and hope I find you well."

As soon as I said that she seemed to lose all composure. I seem to have that unique effect on women.

After a moment she looked back up to me her hand pressed against her breast as if it were her only salvation. She gave a nervous smile like she had done so many years ago and stepped out from behind her chair. "Erik…how wonderful it is to find you well," she said with a wavering voice. To my astonishment she approached and took my hand in hers for a moment before moving off into the kitchen, her hand now covering her mouth to suppress desperate sobs.

I turned to watch her for a moment, but I felt my mother's stare from across the room. I returned my attention to the parlor and found her eyes fixed upon me, staring me up and down. She was silently examining me while I grew increasingly tense under her glare. While her face had changed over the years, her eyes surely had not, and they still held their intense quality about them. Finally she murmured, "Erik…"

My mother then collapsed against Etienne, who promptly lowered her back onto the sofa. I moved quickly toward them and stopped a yard away, unsure of what to do. I dared not touch her. I could only stand there and watch, helpless. She appeared so fragile then in Etienne's arms that my hate for her had begun to slink away like a snake in the grass. She held out one unsteady hand to me, and I hesitated. A lone tear streamed across her pale cheek as she whispered humbly, "I'm so very sorry."

Etienne glanced up at me to witness my next move. I continued to stand there, staring at her hand, which was searching for my forgiveness. Part of me resisted vehemently, reminding me that there was no possibility of her undoing the wrong she had committed in this lifetime. That part of me wanted her to burn in Hell for the abuse I took and the years I spent locked away from the world like the animal she thought me to be.

However, as I looked away to think, I remembered the wrong that I, in turn, had done to her. I had manipulated and twisted her mind as well, and very easily cost her a happy life after my departure.

I reached out and carefully – ever so carefully – took her hand in mine and moved closer. She closed her eyes at my touch. She had always moved away from my touch, but that night it was different. Almost desperately she moved my thin hand and touched it to her cheek. I grimaced at this sudden movement, as I was well conditioned as a child to despise her touch. But before she could look up and see the unpleasant expression on the visible part of my face, I wiped it clean and begged my heart to stop pounding. It was all quite excruciating.

I glanced over to Etienne, who was watching quite intently. He motioned for me to sit down, and with my right hand still held captive, I sat down on the very edge of the sofa beside my mother. The three of us remained there for a few moments, my mother's quiet sobs breaking the intense silence. I sighed and looked about the room. What in God's creation was I going to say to her? In reality I had nothing to say and I knew it. I felt incredibly vulnerable sitting there, and suddenly it became very hot under the mask.

Madeline lowered our hands from her cheek and shifted in her seat to look at me. Her eyes seemed to want to avoid the white leather sitting atop my face, but of course that was quite impossible. She came to stare at it with a sort of pity or guilt – I could not quite tell which. I breathed uneasily and looked up at her, allowing our eyes to finally meet. I glanced past her to Etienne, who had turned his eyes to the floor. We both knew very well what she was about to unleash upon me.

"It is my fault, all my fault," Madeline began quietly, eyes still fixed on my mask. "I was so very wrong all those years ago to force that upon you." She spoke with such guilt and contempt for the thing it nearly made me ill. She reached toward the mask slowly. "A horrid thing it is…"

She gasped as I deftly grasped her wrist away from the mask. "Please do not speak of it again," I demanded. Each second on the subject made me more uncomfortable. She had forced me behind this horrid punishment, but sitting there listening to her speak in such a manner nearly sent me over the edge. Etienne now was watching, wary of my actions. Stared back at him, my mood growing darker.

Madeline's expression faded as she swallowed hard and looked at her wrist in my grasp. "I know not what to say to you after all these years, Erik."

My eyes grew cold. "I suppose that makes two of us," I declared coolly as I released her from my hold and moved to get up. She clutched my sleeve with a surprising force and my head swung around to find her looking up at me desperately. This was all too much. I shook my head and began to step away.

"No! Please don't…go," she said as her grasp on my arm tightened. I tilted my head back and waited as patiently as I could while she gathered the courage to speak. "I've rehearsed what I wanted to say to you for years, but now I cannot manage to think." She paused. "You look well. Such a gentleman, my son."

I scoffed then wrenched my arm from her strangle hold. I walked to the window with my hands in fists behind my back. _Be calm and think_, I commanded myself. "Your _son_…" I mocked. I then swung around on her, my control on my temper quickly slipping through my fingers. "Do tell me, _Mother_, how things have changed that you know consider me to be your _son_."

How easily I forget where my temper comes from. As soon as I said those words, Madeline's voice had found new resolve, but to my relief did not exhibit the same loathing tone that it once possessed for me. She stood and said, "Everything has changed Erik, I only wish you knew." She then sat back down and folded her hands in her lap. "I was stupid back then. I did not know what I was doing to you. You deserved someone worthy of your God-granted talent, not the ignorant and oppressive fool I was." She stared at me as she said this – not the mask as so many times before, but at me. I found my rage slowly dissipating and forced myself to remember that the torture of so many years ago was mutual. My eyes fell to the floor and when I spoke, my voice was quiet.

"So now I am a 'God-granted gift' and not some monstrous child of Satan?" I demanded as the words I spoke cut through my own soul – or rather what was left of it.

I looked back up to see her wince at my words. It seemed as if the word "monster" was more contemptuous in her ears than it was even in mine. Another tear fell across her cheek. "You always were," she said. "I was too blind to see it. I was a stupid child then, Erik." She then began to cry. "A stupid child! I could not look past your face to see you. And I have spent the last 25 years trying to explain why. I only discovered that I cannot, and can now only ask for you to let me be part of your life."

I hung my head and closed my eyes. _You do not want to be a part of my life_…

It was at this moment that Marie declared dinner prepared and re-entered the room. She stopped at the doorway to find me standing one end of the room and Madeline, crying, on the other. I shook my head briefly, took a breath, and looked up to Marie with a twitch of a smile that I doubted she would be able to identify on my features. I looked back over my shoulder to where my mother and Etienne were seated and nodded. "I would be delighted to join you, Mademoiselle," I said calmly, allowing my voice to return to its normal soft quality.

"Please, do call me Marie, Erik dear," Marie implored politely. I could not help but resist a faint smile. She had always called me that, no matter how awful I was to her.

Etienne nodded in my direction and assisted Madeline into the dining room as I followed. I assisted Marie to her chair and then took my own. It would be an eventful evening indeed.

**Author's Notes:**

Thank you to those that reviewed! Please, please, please do let me know what you think of this chapter, the characters, plot, etc. I would very much love to hear anything you have to say!

_Thornwitch – my thoughts exactly! I always was disappointed that Erik and Madeline were never to meet. I wanted desperately to see some Erik/Madeline dialog, for I found that to be very intriguing, and quite possibly entertaining if given a long-term relationship (because bickering with one's parent is always worth a laugh or two at one point or another). Madeline as the "creepy old cat lady" – COMPLETELY PERFECT! That is a wonderful fic idea if I've ever heard one, and completely applicable to the character. I can picture that scenario._

_Stay tuned everyone, and please review!_


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